Cannibal Ate It All

There are times at local jazz clubs, as I sit ensconced in a sea of homely, balding men, that I begin to wonder whether I couldn’t put my interest in jazz to more lucrative employ, perhaps as a sort of male anti-fertility treatment. After all, there are few less effectual methods of ensuring sterility, seclusion and the general enmity of women than jazz. Multiple vasectomies and advanced dementia, you might say. But surely such operations are costly and ineffectual, and the difficulties of self-inducing mental derangement seem to speak for themselves. Consider, on the other hand, that the cover charge at Small’s is only $20, including a drink of your choice and an iron-clad guarantee that your bed will not be shared by another living being (no, not even an animal) for at least a week (this being the bare minimum).

I wonder also whether a bit more light-heartedness and progressivity wouldn’t help to attract new listeners to the tattered remnants of today’s jazz scene, and it is precisely at times like these that my mind wanders to (alcohol. And) figures like Cannonball Adderley.

Julian “Cannonball” Adderley (the name Cannonball was a corruption of a childhood moniker, Cannibal. Because he was fat. Fat people eat a lot. Get it?) was born in Tampa, Florida, in 1928, and grew up studying alto saxophone under his father, a trumpet player and high school music director. Cannonball initially followed in his father’s footsteps, teaching at the Dillard High School in Fort Lauderdale, but soon found himself in New York, where his innovative brand of soulful playing made him an instant hit among musicians and jazz fans alike. In addition to being a remarkably skilled player, Cannonball was also one of jazz’ most publicly beloved personalities. His hard-grooving, soulful compositions won him many admirers, but just as many were drawn by his amiable, easy-going character—a holdover from his days as a teacher; in fact, many fans attended Cannonball’s live performances simply to hear his charmingly discursive and didactic pre-set rap sessions, like this one, an intro (from a separate recording) to the track following it, Jive Samba.

Though Cannon may be most widely known for his work with Miles Davis’ famous late-fifties sextet (Kind of Blue), the three videos posted here are taken from the early sixties, when Cannon was leading his own sextet, featuring, among others, a young Joe Zawinul (who would later go on to found Weather Report) on piano. The sextet achieved great success for a jazz group, and continued in various iterations (finally as a quintet) up until Cannonball’s death.

Work Song

Cannonball Adderley died in 1975 after suffering a stroke. He was a consummate musician and spokesperson for America’s only original art form, and his loss is still felt today.

Jessica's Birthday

--Chris C

"This hat makes me look troubled."

Of heroin’s many jazz victims, Chet Baker may well be the most handsome, and, consequently, the best known. Baker (a native of Oklahoma!) first stepped into the limelight playing with Charlie Parker—another great musician lost to heroin—in the early fifties. Soon afterwards, he joined up with Gerry Mulligan, and their pianoless quartet, famous for its contrapuntal interplay, quickly shot to the top of the jazz world, which is to say that at least twenty people listened to them at some point, and some of those people probably did so intentionally. Listeners adored his minimalistic style and velvety tone, and his natural good looks, tragic mystique, and gentle, melancholy singing voice drew female fans in droves. Baker’s success was not to last long, however, and after falling prey to heroin in the mid-fifties, his career began to steadily ebb, culminating most symbolically with the loss of his teeth (some say in a bar fight, others simply from excessive drug use) and a fifteen month stint in the Italian penal system. Baker made several minor comebacks in subsequent decades, but rarely returned to the United States. He died in 1988, after a mysterious fall from his third-story hotel-room balcony.


Little Girl Blue (Instrumental)
Embraceable You, Blue Note Records, 1995

Recorded in the late fifties (but unreleased until 1995), Chet’s playing here is remarkable for its simplicity and economy of notes. The stripped down trio, including only guitar and bass, further emphasizes what is already a stunningly understated performance.



Angel Eyes
Chet Baker with Fifty Italian Strings, Ojc, 1959



While this album is occasionally criticized for excessively schmaltzy strings, the orchestral arrangements in this song are generally unobtrusive, and leave plenty of room for Chet’s voice to take center stage. A great instance of his unorthodox singing—flat, and tenuous, but beautiful in its own way.

--Chris C

It Sure Is

Bobby Timmons, like most jazz musicians, students of the humanities, and residents of the American Midwest, died frustrated and alone. Another little-known veteran of the soul-jazz era, Timmons hit his stride as pianist with Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers in the late fifties and early sixties. Though an exceedingly able bandleader, Blakey was also an infamous enabler, and when Timmons found himself unfairly typecast as “just another soul player,” the group’s drug and alcohol-laden atmosphere did little to alleviate his crushing depression. Over the next ten years, Timmons struggled to achieve the same level of success he had with Blakey, but never managed to recapture his prior notoriety.

Bobby Timmons died from cirrhosis of the liver in 1974.

Dat Dere (1), This Here (2), This Here is Bobby Timmons, Riverside, 1960

Though both tracks were originally written for The Jazz Messengers and The Cannonball Adderley Sextet, respectively, Timmons cut these particular recordings as leader of his own trio. Orrin Keepnews, author of the liner notes to This Here is Bobby Timmons, and possessor of what may be the worst name I’ve ever heard, had this to say about Dat Dere: “...[a] shouter with just a suggestion of a Latin strain to it.” I don’t particularly feel like writing a pithy description of This Here, either, so here’s something Cannonball Adderley said. "[It’s] simultaneously a shout and a chant" and related to "the roots of soul church music."

Note: Files (Dat Dere on top, This Here on bottom) only seem to play in Firefox.

--Chris C

She Blue Me Good

Blue Mitchell is prized by fans for his unapologetically bluesy (har), soulful, and funky style. Unfortunately, his generally high level of accessibility has led some of jazz’ finger-snapping, neck-bearded “cognoscenti” to dismiss Mitchell as a lightweight, but that won’t stop us from enjoying him. A Florida native, Blue started out with R&B singer Chuck Willis, and was subsequently picked up by Cannonball Adderley in the late fifties. From there, he went on to have a hand in just about every iconic soul jazz group of the sixties and seventies, most notably with Lou Donaldson, Horace Silver, and even Ray Charles.
He died of cancer in 1979.

Fungii Mama, The Thing to Do, Blue Note, 1964—a soulful Caribbean tune from Blue’s sophomore Blue Note album, and one of his best-known compositions. It’s a deceptively simple track, and careful listeners will notice the modified rhythm changes (from Gershwin’s standard "I’ve Got Rhythm," further popularized as a bop vehicle by Charlie Parker) that underpin the whole affair.

HNIC, Bantu Village, Blue Note, 1969—cut towards the beginning of Blue’s sometimes-lamented foray into funk. For this album, Mitchell collaborated with then-prominent South African musician and funksman extraordinaire, Hugh Masekela (his son, Sal Masekela, hosts The E! Network’s Daily 10, a “fast-paced, hosts-driven, topical entertainment news show with attitude that recaps the top ten entertainment stories of the moment.” America!). While the flute may leave it sounding a bit dated, there's an undeniable groove.

Bonus Video!

"Senor Blues"

The Horace Silver Quintet, featuring Blue Mitchell

--Chris C